Book Review Of Moods,Memories and other manoeuvres.

http://www.omd-messages.co.uk/moods-memories-and-other-manoeuvres-julia-kneale/

Moods,Memories and other manoeuvres.

If you pre order Moods,Memories And Other Manoeuvres before the release date of 24th January,there is a discount from amazon.co.uk/books and www.bookdepository.co.uk.

Coming soon in paperback and e book.A few memories of my growing up on the Wirral,a small snapshot of the Wirral and Liverpool music scene from mid to late 1970s and my part in the history of synthpop band Orchestral Manoeuvres In The Dark.The book also contains a selection of my poetry.

Moods,Memories And Other Manoeuvres

Andy McCluskey from OMD,has just okayed the usage of a photograph ,and the title of the book I am currently writing.Watch this space!

THE HOTHOUSE KID,DEMENTIA,and BY HIS OWN HAND,are no longer available on the link s below.They can be accessed via Goggle at Julia Kneale on You Tube.These poems have been set to music and narrated by Rich Szerman.

PRO BONO PUBLICO

It's only that I got there first
and wrote it down.
(The words you might have written
if you'd had the time).
I may have hit the spot,
so now you say
it's a work of genius
penned by me.
No more than your own discarded thoughts
and shameful feelings.
Alive and public on a page.
My blame or glory in your hands.

LONGTAIL

I was born in The Year of The Rat.
Feared for being devious and too bright.
Used in labs for your own good.
Always on the outside looking in.
Only just a foot away.
And don't you know it.

SONG FOR NICK

          With your passion for books,
           Intensely deep looks,
           Heart open wide
           and was God on your side
           when you went for a drive in the rain?
           I will never forget the days
           we sent up Shakespeare plays.
           Oh how we laughed til we cried.
           And I still can't believe you have died.

THE HOTHOUSE KID

THE HOTHOUSE KID.http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bkwjECcO1PY

THE HOTHOUSE KID.

You're daddys' big extention.
He'll love you when you're grown.
But knowledge is a dangerous thing
when your mind is not your own.

Run,run,run!Accumulate!

But this he never told you

when forcefed like a foie gras goose

and brainwashed like a soldier.

Pretentious and precocious,

peace of mind is just a dream.

Academic swagger
fills the family cash machine.

A plastic wife and palace,

with no one else above you.
A life of carrot-chasing

and he never said he loved you.

No longer climbing ladders
like you did when you were young,

your bonsaied brain a child again

and daddy got it wrong.

http://promisingpoetsparkinglot.blogspot.com/

Thank you for The Perfect Poet Award.

I nominate http://www.blogger.com/profile/04139175719967937843 for the next award.

BY HIS OWN HAND.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=G_c80UnAvAw&feature=related

DEMENTIA.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=p9p8QtDBD14

WHO ARE YOU?

If you take away the people
you are nothing.
Deaf by your own imagination.
No one to react to.
No one to direct routine.
No one to confirm your being.
Who are you?

If you take away the people
you are nothing.
A sea-less shell,defined by objects.
No one to distract you.
No one to aspire to.
No one to remind you.
Who are you?

No one.

THE CLOUD.

The sky is huge you know,
but not too big to talk.
I know your thoughts
via pictures in the sky.
They're meant for me.

BORDERLINE.

She's histrionic,mad,erratic,
the Bertha Rochester of the attic
who feels the words that others cannot hear,
and speaks of torture,passion,truth and fear.
Yet if she's working in the arts,
the audience takes her to their hearts.
So is it genius or insanity
that provokes the sheep humanity?

THE GRAVE.

You didn't bring me irises
yet you know damn well I love them.
Instead,you place some tawdry cherub at my head.
NO ONE LIES HERE,it should have read.
Just go away home to your neighbour-cooked pies
and leave me in peace,
listening to rooks and rustling yews,
sleeping in my own bed in my own world.
You know damn well I love irises.

MAKING MARKS.

I asked permission from the oak,
to carve my name on his proud side.
For years we stood in wind and rain,
watching grazers come and go,
and climbers grow from boy to man.
When my gnarled fingers met the bark,
I told him I was going home.
He knew I'd loved him all the while,
and he would never be alone.

THE SEAGULL(IN MEMORY OF MY BROTHER NICK)

Fire meets ice on the road to Christmas.
Seagull hovers above the scene on newborn wings.
Tears meet snow on Christmas day.
Seagull circles my head , like some uncertain halo.
Your distillation in his cry.

THE LIBRARY.

Sheltering from the rain,
boffins in halfmoon glasses
sniff musky tomes in secret.
Retired fingers search for life
amongst the faded pages of obscurity.
Tight lipped librarian
squeaks across the polished floor
and glares at him who dares to cough.
"Ssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssh"!

ALZHEIMERS AT CHRISTMAS.

Tinsel dangling from her wrist,
she's screaming.
Tears of joy run down her face,
she's dreaming.
Holding tight a teddy bear
she's prancing.
Slams the lid of the musical box
to stop the girl from dancing.